


Left To My Own Devices

by TonyPie17



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Angst, Bilbo was an attractive Dwarf, Flashbacks, Gold Sickness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memories from the past, Past Relationship becomes present relationship, Past life, Reincarnation, Rewrite, Thorin is emotionally constipated, Timelines being ignored
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-10 22:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12921717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TonyPie17/pseuds/TonyPie17
Summary: A rewrite of a fic of mine called Erebor;Bilbo knows it's shouldn't be possible, but heknowshe shouldn't be walking Erebor's halls like he's been through them thousands of times before because he knows he hasn't. Why does it feel like he has?And then the memories start flooding in and he can no longer see Thorin as the Dwarf he was before. Because when he closes his eyes, it almost feels like he's been there before, and that nothing's truly changed. Except for the fact that everything has.





	1. But If You Close Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to rewrite this fic as I got back into the Hobbit again; I might find myself rewriting many of these fics as i see fit actually haha. I started with Erebor, but it is only the beginning.

The great halls of Erebor should not have settled a deep sense of home within Bilbo Baggins, not when he had never set foot inside of this mountain before.

It was odd, but he was almost sure he had walked the long corridors before, even finding himself turning corners and spying tapestries he recognized and managing to side step railings he should not have known about. He was so deeply familiar with the hallways that it was like walking within Bag End. Bilbo’s feet carried him along, though headed where the Hobbit did not know (didn’t he, though? Didn’t he know _exactly_ where he was headed?).

But that didn’t change the fact that Bilbo should not have known the mountain as well as he obviously did. He had never even been this side of the Misty Mountains before this blasted quest, and it’s damn dragon and the Gold Mad King in the treasury below. And even if he knew he hadn’t been here before in his entire life, he would stake his life on knowing what was around each corner, and could absolutely tell where he was going with his eyes closed.

His legs stopped him before a door. Bilbo glanced about, trying to discern where he was in the mountain first and foremost, but with hardly any light to help him see, Bilbo was unable to tell if he was high up or deeper below. He could bet on it being higher above; he remembered at least three different staircases.

Figuring there must be something behind the door he needed to retrieve (otherwise he would not have stopped here) Bilbo pushed it open and stepped within. He stepped into a receiving room that had fallen into disuse. It had not been touched by the dragon but was covered in dust, but Bilbo saw a window in the corner where light was filtering in. He stepped further in, only to step into what appeared to be another time entirely, as the room suddenly had a crackling fire and there was significantly less dust covering the place…

_He was waiting for the eldest child of the most noble line; a friend, but also his Prince. He stood with his head bowed as the Dwarrow he had been waiting for stepped out of the room to his left. The Prince was beautiful; dressed in deep blues and blacks to compliment his hair and eyes. Most would not find the Prince attractive, with such dark features, but he found him absolutely stunning._

_Not that his Prince would ever know._

_“You waited for me?” the regal Dwarrow asked, the surprise in his sky blue eyes clear and unhidden. The Prince had very few friends he could trust; his most trusted guards most of them._

_He nodded, keeping his eyes low as he did so, before glancing up,a  slow smile crossing his features._

_“I figured we would stop in the kitchens for a bite to eat before heading to the sparring grounds. After all,” his smile grew as the blue eyed Prince in front of him smiled as well, the expression unhindered, “you owe me a rematch, Thorin.”_

Bilbo stumbled into the nearest wall, the image of a dazzling smile on the face of the one Bilbo had pined for playing behind his eyelids every time he blinked. That expression had been directed at _him_. He had never—he was positive, absolutely so, that he had never met Thorin before the Dwarf King showed up in his smial. And Thorin’s disdain for the Hobbit at the beginning of their quest; the person in that memory—no, not a memory, it wasn’t, it absolutely couldn’t have been—had clearly been close to Thorin in a way that Bilbo most certainly wasn’t.

Bilbo tried to stand again, shaking his head and trying to free his mind of that hallucination. Thorin’s smile kept playing behind his eyelids, not a trace of grey in his beard or hair and no sign of the wrinkles that came from years of worrying, draped beautiful in a tunic that looked very becoming on his strong figure. Bilbo wanted to know what that was like; he wanted to see Thorin in wonderful earthen colors, smiling, beautiful.

He wandered further into the room, headed toward a door. Was this the door he had come through? He needed to leave again, get away from this place and the hallucinations it caused in his mind. Bilbo was hardly thinking as he pushed the door open, headed through and into another room and most certainly _not_ the hallway. This one was more intimate; a sitting room. Like the room before it was covered in dust and few windows allowed in light. The fabrics of the rugs and chairs were moth eaten.

 _No,_ Bilbo thought as he began to see the room different once more. _Not again…_

_Thorin had beckoned him into the Prince’s chambers and he stepped first into the sitting room. He felt awkward and out of place; he was not royal in any way, and was in fact more so a simple Dwarrow. He had parents to support, however, thus the rigorous training he had gone through to become a Guard, and then the even harsher training that led to him being one of the Prince’s personal Guard. He was not meant to be here._

_And yet…_

_And yet Thorin had asked him to be. He sighed and walked over to the fire, stoking the coals a bit and ensuring that it would burn through the night. Not that they would need any of the excess heat…_

_“You don’t have to do that,” a voice behind him chuckled. He glanced up and saw Thorin standing in a different doorway, having changed into his night trousers and an open nightgown. He looked away, back to the fire, heat filling his face that most certainly had not come from directly in front of him._

_“Someone has to. A certain spoiled Prince won’t,” he snorted. Thorin laughed even louder this time, the sound pleasing to his ears. He smiled and stood up straight._

_“Is there something you wanted of me this fine night? Or has my Prince simply summoned me to keep the fire going while he sleeps,” he asked, coming closer. Thorin’s smile took on a different nature as he stepped into Thorin’s space. He had grown taller than Thorin, but only by a few inches. That was fine, though. Thorin held no hard feelings._

_“I needed to speak with you privately,” Thorin practically purred, voice rumbling in his chest. They were close now, fabric covered chest pressed to armor covered chest. His tone dripped with promise, and he knew exactly what Thorin needed to “speak” with him about. His armor seemed to start coming off of its own volition._

_“Then let us speak where there is no chance of being overheard.”_

Bilbo broke himself from his reverie much easier this time around, though he was not entirely sure he wanted to do so. The Thorin he had just seen had been… for lack of a better word, _alluring_. Bilbo would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want to see Thorin like that again, though Thorin was much older now, and his own thoughts and feelings would have changed since then.

But Bilbo liked to think that Thorin would be like that once again. When he wasn’t consumed by the gold sickness that ate at him, making him hollow. There was nothing that could fill the void within Thorin, and his fearless leader had become someone different as he tried to fill that hole within himself. The more he attempted to fill it with gold and precious gems, the less of a person he would become.

Those thoughts turned Bilbo’s mind away from the sweet image of the Prince Thorin he kept seeing, back to the present.

He stood before one more door.

Already knowing what was going to happen should he open it, Bilbo grabbed the knob and pushed, needing to finish the trifecta of memories that kept up a barrage in his mind. He stepped into the most intimate of the rooms; the bed chamber…

 _He walked into the Prince’s bed chambers with a strange look in his eyes. He had been thinking about this for a while, and it was starting to eat at him. They had been hiding from the rest of the kingdom, from Thorin’s_ **_family_ ** _for months now, and though they were always careful about their meetings, he feared it was only a matter of time before one of Thorin’s cunning siblings figured out what was happening._

_He feared it would be Dis, who was young and would ask too many questions in all the right places until he and Thorin spilled the truth to her. Or maybe Frerin who, though always kind and willing to keep a secret, would eventually tell the truth to his grandfather under fear of punishment for keeping such a thing from him. Or out of excitement. Frerin would be the most excited._

_“We need to tell them eventually,” he sighed as he started to undress, shedding layers or armor._

_“Yes, but eventually is not now,” Thorin responded from the bathroom. He was undoing his braids and ensuring all of his beads and clasps made it back to their respective spots._

_“Eventually should be soon, Thorin.” He stripped off his tunic and now stood in only his trousers, standing before a mirror. He was not an unattractive Dwarrow, and there had been many who had wanted his hand. His hair and beard were of a fair color, brown like copper for his hair and eyes a muted green like jade, his mother used to say. The many scars that crossed his flesh were a testament to his training and expertise with the sword. Though only having been in one battle, he wore his scars with the pride expected of a Dwarf._

_“I want to court you, officially,” he said now, just as Thorin stepped up behind him to wrap his arms around his waist, and press his face and several kisses into his back._

_“My grandfather would not allow it,” Thorin sighed._

_He turned to face his Prince, muted jade gazing into sky blue._

_“Then we’ll simply wait, until he no longer rules, and we will have your father give us the King’s blessing.” He kissed Thorin’s forehead. “But we must still tell someone.”_

_Thorin closed his eyes, taking in the scent of his One, before opening them and smiling a different smile now. He was pulled towards the bed by Thorin._

_“We will. In Time.”_

Bilbo stood before that bed now, staring down at it with an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was familiarity, but also fear and unease, and not a small bit of lust and genuine love. He had been feeling the latter of emotions for Thorin for a long while, but the feelings he felt were like not his own, but he also knew, in some strange way, that they _were_ his. They were his even if they didn’t seem like it.

Why did he know Thorin so intimately, and yet not intimately at all, now? Where had these thoughts and memories so clearly not his own come from? Was Bilbo really so sure that these emotions weren’t his?

He needed to go to the library and find an answer. He needed to speak to Thorin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind leaving a few words for me on your thoughts? I became a more experienced writer, and so I've decided to redo some of these stories, starting with this one.


	2. Does It Almost Feel Like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Nothing's changed at all?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2~! I quite like this version of chapter 2 better than the older one. I like that I've got a better handle on portraying feelings. More on why I liked it in the end note.

War. Thorin was talking about going to _war._

It was hard to see Thorin when the Dwarf hardly left the treasury, constantly scouring for the Arkenstone as he was. Bilbo saw, with each passing hour, the fearless leader of their company growing more and more sick as he looked for the blasted stone. Bilbo supposed he understood that it was important, but he still could not understand just _why._ It was a rock; that was not going to change and it would only do so much for Thorin. It could not feel, it could not love, it would not take away that empty feeling. Only people could do that. Bilbo didn’t understand.

 _Then again,_ a tiny voice said in the back of his mind, _You didn’t understand before, either._

Bilbo came to view the voice as not his own, but that of a deeper, rougher rasp of a Dwarrow. This Dwarrow may or may not have been him, at one point, but Bilbo hadn’t had the chance to ask Thorin any questions about it. The more visions Bilbo had, the more he came to understand Thorin, far better than he had on their quest to Erebor. But he still hardly understood it all; the library could only offer so many explanations in Westron.

He hadn’t picked up any of the books in Khuzdul, afraid of what might happen if he did. Bilbo had thought that the visions would die down once he left Thorin’s old chambers in the royal wing, but they did not. Now it seemed like everywhere he went there was a significant memory he had. Many without Thorin in them but most with. Around almost every corner he was stepping into a new vision, seeing the Lonely Mountain from the perspective of a Dwarf that was utterly in love with the Mountain’s Crown Prince.

 _He was always determined to prove himself. To you, to his parents, to his grandfather,_ the little voice sighed, and Bilbo felt his heart ache a bit. It wasn’t right; Thorin shouldn’t have been reduced to this―this mess.

“I don’t understand why,” he mumbled to himself. Realizing he was talking to himself again, he shook his head to try to clear his mind. He was _not_ ―that Dwarf was not him. He was merely seeing through the eyes of a Dwarrow in love, who experienced heartache and hardship at the hands of another.

Bilbo knew his friends were growing worried about him. He was far away from them, even when sitting around the fires they made to eat and lament. His mind would be drawn back to their time on the road, but right after it would be drawn to these halls, and Bilbo would leave to wander a bit more before bed, the Mountain itself calling to him. He replayed many of the different visions in his mind, going to where they had happened to get the strongest feelings of them.

Bilbo would be lying if he said he didn’t have a few favourites.

 _But they aren’t yours,_ he tried to tell himself, only to have that little voice reappear and tell him they were. He tried to stamp it out, again and again, but it would just come back, stronger each time.

Why had it only appeared when Bilbo had stepped foot further into the mountain? Why not when he was first in the treasury, a dragon before him? It didn’t make any sense. Nothing about this made any sense.

_“We would have many children,” he said, leaning against a bit of railing and staring down at the many hardworking Dwarrow below. He saw a few with their parents, open smiles on the young ones' faces._

_“Really? Do you expect me to bear them?” Thorin laughed, the sound deep like a rumbling in the hills but soothing, in its own way. He was very in love with Thorin._

_“We’ll figure something out, surely!”_

Did Thorin still want children? Did he still want to build that kind of life with someone like Bil―like the Dwarf? Or had Thorin’s mind been changed when he saw his kingdom bathed in fire, his people driven from their home and no doubt many lives lost? Bilbo could hardly comprehend it sometimes, the amount of casualties caused by a dragon’s own gold lust. He had not been able to until he saw Laketown razed by the beast they had unleashed.

“Bilbo,” someone called to him, a warning, making the Hobbit acutely aware of the fact that he was standing dangerously close to a ledge. The railing in this spot was gone; if he stepped any closer he would fall.

The Hobbit glanced back to see Bofur watching him, brown eyes wide and concerned. Bilbo figured it must have been nerve-wracking. He was too far away from his friends in his mind, always concerned with the Dwarf in the treasury that wouldn’t eat, and wouldn’t sleep, until it was absolutely necessary for him. Bilbo was sure it had been days since Thorin had done either.

“Yes?” he said, trying to smile a bit.

“Thorin’s been looking for you,” Bofur replied. He was wringing his hands a bit, a testament to the nervous feelings he and the others had been feeling with each passing day the Arkenstone wasn’t found. Bilbo was possibly the only person that hadn’t seen Thorin at all in the last week. Everyone took shifts in the treasury but Bilbo―Bilbo continued wandering the Mountain. He was too simple for the gold and jewels that called to the Dwarves. He had no need for them to fill him up inside when he already had his friends.

Another reason Bilbo had not stepped foot in the treasury was because of the feelings he got when he went anywhere near it. Dread would fill his entire being and a sick sort of hatred took hold in his mind. It was not hatred for the Dwarf within, but instead the mountains of gold. The small voice in his mind whispered to him its disdain for the treasure hoard, Bilbo’s own already conflicted feelings swirling in to align.

_It was always that blasted treasure. Taking away our One._

Bilbo would find himself agreeing before he remembered that Thorin was not his. As much as he wanted the King to be, it simply was not possible. Thorin had seen nothing past the treasury door since entering the mountain, he would not be looking at Bilbo the way he had that Dwarf all those years ago.

The ugly thing within him reared its head when Bilbo stepped into the treasury, feeling his already mixed feelings growing stronger and more uninhibited. The little voice was louder, telling him he needed to leave, to go, because he didn’t deserve to have to see the sudden shift in his and Thorin’s relationship because of the stupid gold within the mountain. It kept telling him that this was one of their lowest moments, in a tone that was nearly ashamed, and that Bilbo should have been spared of it.

Bilbo knew he likely needed to know. If this marked an important shift in their―in Thorin’s and the Dwarf’s relationship than Bilbo had to understand it. Mistakes had been made in the past and he needed to know what they were if he was to ever understand Thorin and what to do to be with him. If that meant seeing an unsavory vision, then so be it.

Bilbo tried not to look down over the side of the landing’s edge, the tiny voice in his mind telling him it was too dangerous.

 _The fall_ **_could_ ** _kill you._

And just why did it know that? What happened here?

“Bilbo,” Thorin’s voice called, but Bilbo did not see the Dwarf as he was before him. “Bilbo―”

_“―what is the matter with you today? You’re usually so composed,” Thorin frowned, hands coming up to push stubborn hair back from his love’s face. He had been wanting to braid it recently, but could do no such thing if he didn’t want to raise suspicion._

_“Why did you bring me here?” he asked instead of answering Thorin. His beloved knew he hated being near the treasury, even more so within it._

“You know I hate it here,” Bilbo murmured, aloud, for Thorin to hear, unfortunately. Thorin’s eyes were confused, before he, too, seemed to realize something.

“Bilbo,” he started, but the Hobbit did not hear him.

_“Today is a day when my grandfather is more… amenable to things,” Thorin sighed. “I figured now would be a good time to try to gauge his reaction for a courtship.”_

_He looked shocked, genuinely so, that Thorin had said those words. He looked over at Thror, who stood above the hills of gold, the Heart of the Mountain in his hands. Then he looked back at Thorin, his expression clear._

_“You really think your grandfather is amenable? He has that toxic stone in his hands,” he hissed._

“That toxic stone will be the end of him.”

“No, Bilbo, the Mountain gave its heart to my grandfather,” Thorin argued. In his mind the scene was familiar, a near replica of one he had experienced before. “If you would only listen to me―”

“I will not! That stone is poisoning all of you and if it continues―”

_“―not even you will be spared!” he finished. Thorin wouldn’t look him in the eye, his expression hooded and dark._

_“Say something, Thorin!” he yelled, making the royal Prince flinch away._

_“The Mountain gave its heart to us,” Thorin said finally, but he could tell it was with more uncertainty now then there had ever been. Thorin was no longer so firm in his standing._

_He needed to make Thorin see the truth. He had hoped it would not come to something so drastic as what he had in mind, but there was nothing else he could think to do to clear the fog clouding Thorin’s head. His love was not enough anymore. He needed something that would rock Thorin to the very core of his being, if nothing else worked._

_This needed to work. Or his death would be in vain._

_“I’m going to prove that it is that stone poisoning this kingdom,” he said, taking a step back towards the ledge. It was a very long way down. It **could** kill him if he fell. _

“Bilbo―stop!”

_Thorin realized what he was doing. “Don’t go any further!”_

_“I have to save you.”_

" **No**!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also really enjoyed shifting between past and present between Thorin and Bilbo as they recreated that very same scene (with a few differences in the present of course), and also making it a bit more prominent that Bilbo and the Dwarf are one in the same because, though Bilbo hears the tiny voice as the Dwarf's, it is ultimately still his own. In a way.


	3. And The Walls Kept Tumbling Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In the city that we loved"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three!!! I was actually supposed to post this chapter like two days ago and got sidetracked and bogged down with hella work ahhh. But I have a bunch of ideas for new stories and if I don't finish the rewrites they'll get buried under the new stuff (if I ever get around to writing said new stuff).

_ He came to in the arms of his One, his head aching something fierce and his vision blurred. But his face was wet, just so, with tears that were not his own. He looked up to see his One crying, the strong Prince that stood stoic before his subjects reduced to tears over a Guard that loved too fiercely. His One held him tight, barely allowing the Healers to do their jobs. His One deemed no one truly worthy of touching him, save Thorin himself, and had tried to fix the damage all on his own, if the blood he saw on Thorin’s hands was any indication. _

_ But Healing was not Thorin’s chosen craft. _

_ “ _ **_Help_ ** _ him!” Thorin demanded, voice watery. He tried to lift a hand, making it far enough to clutch at Thorin’s robes. He was going for soothing, but Thorin mistook it for pain. _

_ “We’re doing all that we can, your Highness, but we cannot do much more unless you let him go!” one of the Healers replied, frantic as well. _

_ “I’ll not let him go again! I’ll not let him go  _ **_ever_ ** _ again!” _

Bilbo came back to consciousness slowly and blinked his eyes open. Immediately after he closed them again, even the soft candle light too much for him. He brought his palms up to press the heels into his eyes and then tried again, steeling himself to be able to take the brightness time around. A tiny groan left him and whoever was supposed to be tending to him rushed over immediately, tutting and then helping him sit up to drink cool water.

“What happened?” Bilbo croaked out after he had been refreshed. He brought a hand up to rub at the back of his hand, where the dull pain throbbed outwards. He felt bandages and then everything rushed back to him.

He had been standing on the landing in the treasury when another vision hit him. He had followed in the footsteps of his past life (he was really beginning to think of it as him, though a much more drastic version of himself, as Dwarrow were it seemed) just like he had with every vision, and he’d taken a step back, over the edge of the treasury’s landing and he’d fallen down into the gold below. He blacked out once he had hit his head, and had been confronted with another vision in his unconscious state.

“What, exactly, were you thinking?” Oin hissed. Bilbo tried to shake his head a bit, wanting to clear the fog, but it hurt too much to do so. Goodness, he and his past life were so much more different than Bilbo had first assumed! He never thought the Dwarrow would actually try to  _ kill _ himself in order to get Thorin to understand the poison seeping into his kingdom. Then again, though, Dwarrow  _ were _ creatures of impulse that would willingly sacrifice themselves. Case in point being the suicide quest Bilbo had tagged along for.

His past life seemed an exception to that for a bit, but had still proven to be a Dwarf through and through, unfortunately.

_ I’m sorry. _

“What happened?” Bilbo asked, though it was more to keep from raising any suspicion against himself. Of course he already knew what happened.

“You slipped off the ledge in the treasury, lad,” Oin gruffed. He was mixing something together, a sludge like liquid that made Bilbo’s stomach turn at just the sight of it. “Drink. This’ll help with the pain.”

“Thank you.” Bilbo took the bowl of liquid gratefully and drank from it, forcing his gag reflex down when he found himself ready to throw the sludge back up. As foul as it was, he was positive Oin knew what he was doing.

“Even if it was at your expense, that was the first time Thorin’s left that treasury, rushin’ you here,” Oin continued, shaking his head. Bilbo had thought he was merely experiencing the vision in his mind. He had not realized it was happening in real time. “Carried you in himself and wouldn’t let go until Dwalin restrained him.”

_ You can do something. Make change before it’s too late. Please. _

His past life was trying to tell him something. Bilbo knew now that it was no coincidence that the Dwarf he had been had awoken within his soul after the dragon had been driven out. There were no memories of Smaug to be played in his mind because something had happened before Smaug’s arrival in Erebor, something that led Bilbo to believe that the Dwarrow had never even seen the wyrm. He had stood on that same ledge when Smaug was before him, but not a single vision had been dredged up in Bilbo’s mind.

It could only mean one thing: history was trying to repeat itself. And if Thorin wasn’t careful, it would, at the expense of Bilbo’s life, most likely. But instead of a dragon coming to claim the treasure within the mountain, something far more sinister would try.

What did he need to do to get the last few visions? He needed to figure it out. Where hadn’t he been in the mountain just yet? Not counting the caverns and tunnels too unstable for exploration, there had to be other places he needed to go to. Where else could he―

_ You know. _

Bilbo sat ramrod straight. He did know.

“Whoa there! Your head’s gotta heal!” Oin tried to say, grabbing at Bilbo but the Hobbit moved quickly and fluidly, staying out of Oin’s grasp easily.

“I am terribly sorry, Oin, but I really need to go!” Bilbo pulled on his waistcoat (the last good one he had after all they had been through) and hurried out of the makeshift infirmary. His feet carried him to where he needed to go and one of his hands pushed into his pocket, fingers wrapping tightly around an acorn he had been holding onto.

_ The earth always was amazing to me, _ the voice said, fond almost.  _ It could start life anew even after tragedy. _

The room he stepped into was one he had found and kept hold of dearly. It was less a room and more a home, the home the Dwarrow he had been had lived within. It had called to him within the first few days of Bilbo being inside of this mountain and he had chosen it to stay in when he was not with the rest of the Company.

The voice in the back of his head sighed, remembrance of a time that was not his own flashing through Bilbo’s mind. He stepped into the room and kneeled down to look into the pack he had stashed within the home. Inside of it was the blasted stone that had his friends and Thorin in a mad scramble. The Arkenstone.

Bilbo looked around and ensured the door was closed and bolted shut before he picked up the glittering stone. The Heart of the Mountain, not given up willingly, but taken and put on display for all to see. That was not what should have happened in Bilbo’s mind; a heart was a private thing meant to be shared only with those worthy of holding it. Maybe that was why it had showed itself to Bilbo in the mounds of treasure, wanting to be cradled and protected and put back where it belonged. He held it in his hands, cradling it almost, and even in the cold of the mountain it was warm, warm, familiar―

_ The stone was heavy in his hands; bright and warm but corrupted by the greed of Dwarrows that had no business with such a tight hold on it. The Heart of the Mountain, but a heart was not meant to be in the hands of ones who would corrupt it, even more so when it was stolen. He felt terrible about having stolen it, especially since he hadn’t thought that he would get far enough to do so. He was no burglar or common thief; he was a hardworking Dwarrow that simply wanted his One to come to his senses. _

_ The window within his home was one with a view of Ravenhill. He had been there several times before, with and without Thorin, and it was his favored place to go to get away from the hustle and bustle of the mountain for a bit of quiet, even when there was usually many ravens flying about. They had been easy enough to bribe into silence when he and Thorin went there together, after all. _

_ A great tolling of the bells that signaled something wrong in the Mountain tore his mind away from the softer moments between he and Thorin. Thror had realized that his precious stone was gone. He needed to move fast if he was to get rid of it before Thror realized just who had taken it from him. He knew a place he could go to think, and he stared at it through his window. _

_ He needed to leave. _

Of course. Bilbo could see Ravenhill now, perfectly well, and that was where he needed to go. He had seen it before but everytime he looked at it he felt a deep foreboding fill him. The voice always urged him away from it.

_ I’m sorry _ .

Something had happened there and he needed to follow in his own footsteps to find out what. He didn’t know if he needed to avoid Thorin on his way, but he slipped the Arkenstone into his pocket and headed out of the home. He glanced back at it once, and saw a vision of a kind Dwarrowdam staring up at him, pride in her eyes, and she almost reminded Bilbo of his mother. Kind, but stern. A certain twinkle to her eyes. She  _ was _ his mother. In a way.

He only got so far before he ran into the Dwarrow he had been seeing more in the past than the present in the last days.

“You’re awake,” Thorin breathed, looking relieved. His eyes swept over Bilbo’s figure, checking for other injuries but finding none―aside from the most obvious.

“Yes, well, we cannot figure out this―” Bilbo paused, trying to figure out what he wanted to say. What lie he needed to tell. “If we’re to go to war I’m of no use to you sleeping.”

_ Clever. _

Thorin looked genuinely surprised to hear the words. Bilbo hoped he hadn’t said the wrong thing, but then Thorin nodded, a solemn and resolute look entering his eye as he placed his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders.

“Are you sure of this? There is no going back, K―Bilbo,” Thorin hesitated and nearly called the Hobbit something else. The look in his eyes had shifted, for just a second, and if Bilbo hadn’t been staring so intently at Thorin he may not have noticed it. But he did. The voice in the back of his mind perked up, just briefly.

“We’ve come this far and I’ve stood beside you all this time. I cannot run when you’ve trusted me as you have just because I don’t want to fight.” The words pained Bilbo a bit to say, if only because there was too much truth in them. He could not run now, even if he wanted to so badly. Thorin was sick but Bilbo could not leave him.

“You are my most trusted ally.” Thorin looked around, as if the others would hear them. Bilbo doubted any of the others were anywhere near, not when they were preparing for a battle.

“The Arkenstone still has not been found,” Thorin whispered now, gravely serious. Bilbo felt the stone in his pocket now more than before, as if its weight suddenly rooted him to the spot. If he moved it would be evident it was on his person, he felt. “I believe it is because one of them has taken it.”

_ Oh, my One… _

Bilbo swallowed thickly. “Are you certain? Thorin that seems―ridiculous, almost.”

But Thorin shook his head, too sure of himself. Bilbo saw the steadfast stubbornness and determination he had fallen in love with initially. In this life and the last.

“Were it still within the treasury it would have been found. One of them has stolen it. But I know you―” Thorin faltered, just a bit, for only a second, and Bilbo saw a younger Dwarrow, unsure, losing himself a bit, “I know you would not.”

And then, for the first time in days, weeks even, Thorin smiled. Bilbo felt like he had not seen that smile in years, and that was the Dwarrow within him, wasn’t it? They had only met earlier that year, after all. The radiance of that one smile was enough alone to set a fire in the hearth of Bilbo’s soul. He needed to see Thorin’s mind restored, to see more of that radiance. It would not happen with the cursed stone within the Mountain.

With a heavy heart, Bilbo forced on his own smile to give back. He did not like lying to Thorin. Hated it, even. But he needed to in order to save the Dwarrow he had come to love. Thorin patted his shoulder and then turned to walk away, hesitating for only a split second before going. His trust in Bilbo was strong, but unknowingly being broken.

_ It’s for his own good. _

Bilbo agreed. “For his own good.”

And if he said it enough, then he would believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts? I definitely tried to make Ravenhill more significant this go 'round, and it's gonna play a Huge part later too.
> 
> Fun fact: Dwarves, no matter how disinclined to dying they may be, are still super dramatic and will try to kill themselves for their significant other, with varying results.


End file.
